


Fred

by civilsmile



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Double Penetration, Forced Orgasms, HYDRA Trash Party, Humor, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12160122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civilsmile/pseuds/civilsmile
Summary: Fred, a tentacle monster, suffers the occasional bout of melancholia. Hydra helps.





	Fred

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt](https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2271.html?thread=5700575#cmt5700575) on the hydratrashmeme:
> 
> The Hydra scientists have a tentacle monster they've been studying, and a Winter Soldier with a remarkable resilience to pain and injury. So, in order to figure out how the tentacle monster might react to humans, they stick the Soldier in the tank, and stand around taking notes as the monster rapes him.
> 
> Bonus for the creature making the Soldier come multiple times.

There were always games to play and puzzles to solve, so Fred was never bored. He was a good learner, and his keepers fed him a steady stream of new information to assimilate, new toys and tools to understand. Also fish, which were delicious. But sometimes, especially at night when his keepers weren't around and he drifted quietly in his tank changing colors to amuse himself, he was maybe a little lonely. He could see and hear his keepers through the glass, and carry on something like a conversation once they learned to read his simpler color patterns, but no one ever got in the tank with him for company. The thought put off easily enough in the daytime was harder to avoid at night: he didn't really have any friends. 

Then one day, his keepers brought someone new to visit him. Fred splashed a little with excitement, and turned aquamarine in curiosity. Except for a strip of black cloth covering its eyes, the new person was naked, which none of his keepers had ever been before. It had the usual complement of upper and lower limbs—arms and legs, he remembered—as well as a dangly bit at the front that Fred guessed was probably genitalia. One of its bare arms shone a cheerful silver. Fred turned silver to match as two of his keepers maneuvered the visitor into the basket of the crane that on a typical day delivered fish over the high walls of the tank. _What what what?_ Fred flashed, orange streaks flaring and fading, and his keepers laughed. 

"New playmate for you, Fred," one of them said. The crane swung, and before Fred knew quite what was happening, the basket unceremoniously upended the naked person into the water.

Fred turned yellow in panic. Humans needed air to breathe—his new friend was going to drown! The naked person flailed its legs, driving itself toward the surface, and Fred rushed to help, coiling a thick tentacle firmly about its middle and lifting it until its head cleared the water. "Aargh," the person said. It shoved at his tentacle with its hands, and the chemical composition of the water changed. Turning green with relief, then aquamarine again, he sent a dozen delicate fronds flickering over its skin, assessing. It convulsed in his grasp, and the flavors changed again as it secreted new compounds into his tank. Fred refrained from turning pink with disgust, for politeness' sake, but it didn't taste very nice. 

"Take off the blindfold, Soldier," one of his keepers called through the glass, and his new friend tore the strip of cloth away. Fred raised his center mass until all his eyes were above the waterline, so they could inspect each other more or less face to face. The human's mouth fell open. It drew in air, and then it made an extremely loud noise. Fred turned vermilion with surprise and nearly dropped it. 

It made the noise again, and produced more bitter-tasting compounds. Fred flashed brown spots of distress. This human was not happy. He might not know the subtleties of its chemical language, but Fred thought _fear_ was a decent guess. Possibly also _shock_ and _horror_. One of its arms was still silver, but Fred wasn't fooled: the amiable color was not a sign of its disposition. His suspicions were confirmed when it made a claw of the silver hand and raked hard at his tentacle. It only hurt a little, but the message was clear. This naked person didn't like him.

Fred rippled amber with chagrin at having made such a poor impression. He felt bad holding onto it when it clearly wanted to get free, but he couldn't let it drown. His keepers would see that it was unhappy, he thought, pulsing grey with disappointment, and take it away. It slashed at him again, and with a little purple flicker of exasperation he wound a tentacle around its wrists, securing its arms behind its back. It was still making the upsetting noise. He put another tentacle in its mouth to stop it. He could feel it trying to bite him, but its teeth weren't sharp enough to hurt. It thrashed its legs, even though his center mass wasn't close enough to kick, and he coiled a tentacle around each ankle to hold it still.

There. Now that it was quiet and no longer flailing, if still fairly squirmy, Fred hoped they could both calm down. He turned his most reassuring color, black dusted with white like the night sky, and brushed it with his fronds again, in a soothing way. When he caressed the bit he thought might be its genitals, it gave a little shudder, and the chemical broth of the tank changed yet again. That was—that was definitely a better flavor. Encouraged, Fred concentrated his efforts there, fondling it lightly. Compared to his kind, humans were quite fragile, and he didn't want to damage it. Its squirming intensified, forcing him to tighten his grip at its wrists and ankles, but the secretions from its skin grew sweeter. 

A little vermilion current shimmered through his starry black when its body began to alter under his ministrations, the small appendage between its legs rising and lengthening, growing stiff. He curled a tentacle around it experimentally, stroking slowly from base to tip, and the human moaned around the tentacle stuffed in its mouth. The sound, Fred decided, was considerably less disturbing than its earlier shrieks. He repeated the action, risking a slightly stronger grip, ready to turn an apologetic gold at the first taste of the abrasive compounds he was now sure signaled distress. But the flavor only grew richer, more intoxicating. He stroked it again, and again, and before long its whole body jerked against him as it released a curious and—oh, _entirely_ delicious substance into the water. 

Delighted to be getting on so well, Fred continued to caress it. It thrashed in his grip, the volume of its sounds increasing, and he pressed the tentacle in its mouth a little deeper to remind it to be quiet. The flavor changed again, became layered and complex. Fred explored it further with his enveloping fronds, never ceasing his attentions to what had quickly become his favorite bit of it, curious if other parts might yield their own rewards. There was a little raised bud on its chest—and there, another—that made it writhe with the softest of brushes. Even more intriguing, there was a hole in it, at the bottom, that opened when pressed by an investigating frond. It seemed to like this, if its captivating chemicals could be trusted, but Fred didn't know what was safe to put inside a human and reluctantly withdrew. 

The appendage between its legs had softened somewhat, but was by now quite firm again. When he pulled back from its hole, it whined in a way that rather seemed to indicate disappointment. Fred glinted lavender with amusement. Presumably, the human knew what was appropriate for it. He stroked its hole again, noting the increase in pleasant flavor. Out of an abundance of caution, he secreted from the end of one tentacle a slick substance of his own, and used it to ease his careful push inside. The human moaned with what Fred felt reasonably confident was _pleasure_ and did something peculiar to the tentacle in its mouth. At first Fred thought it was trying to bite him again, but no: it was laving him with its rough wet tongue. And sucking. With something less than strictly scientific curiosity, Fred pressed the tentacle a fraction deeper, then pulled it out entirely. The human closed its eyes, and left its mouth open. Fred filled it again, working the tentacle slowly in and out. 

Perhaps that was the proper way to treat both its holes? He pushed and withdrew below as well, still rhythmically working the appendage that was the best part of it, and it spasmed with pleasure, flooding his tank with its enchanting flavor. Judicious experimentation determined the most favorable results: it liked him gentle with its mouth, not so deep as to interfere with its breathing, and comparatively forceful with its other hole, shoving it full of himself again and again. 

When it spilled a second time, he took his tentacle out of its mouth to hear its cries. These ragged sounds did not discomfit him at all. He replaced both tentacles with thicker ones when he drove back inside it, making sure not to neglect the delicate teasing of its chest, savoring its muffled wails at the unceasing stimulation of its most sensitive places. It fought him harder than before, twisting pitifully against his considerably superior strength, but he knew what it was capable of now, and wanted more. 

The third emission took much longer to achieve, and after that it was done. He felt the change in its chemical responses, and adjusted his touching of it accordingly, avoiding its exhausted parts and stroking its graceful back instead. He curled a tentacle very gently around its neck to support its head, and resting its cheek on this, it fell asleep. Fred cradled it close to his center mass, and turned a deep contented blue.


End file.
